


i guess all first loves are like this

by ohhahh



Category: Cravity (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Dialogue Heavy, Fluff, M/M, chaeryeong is his cool cousin, prince!wonjin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-28 06:41:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30135537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhahh/pseuds/ohhahh
Summary: “I hope you don’t forget me, Your Highness.”Wonjin repeats his name a few times just to make sure he doesn’t.Koo Jungmo, Koo Jungmo, Koo Jungmo.
Relationships: Ham Wonjin/Koo Jungmo
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	i guess all first loves are like this

He sits up on the balcony with his shimmery masquerade mask slung around his neck, his chin in his palm. “Wonjin, put that mask back on,” snaps the king, pinching the shoulder of his son’s shirt. He obeys, the elastic snapping against his ear. He’d much rather be down below, losing himself between warm bodies under the chandelier. Getting tipsy, twirling around with strangers until he collapses.

“Your Highness, Princess Chaeryeong requests your presence,” mumbles the king’s advisor, hustling Wonjin down the stairs. There by the door stands Chaeryeong of the neighbouring kingdom. Being cousins with a few months between them, they see an awful lot of each other. Wonjin grew up tugging her stupid pigtails and teaching her how to play marbles with his own rules, since no one was around to teach him either. The advisor heads back up the stairs, and Wonjin lets out a low breath.

“The air is so suffocating up there,” he huffs, tugging on his ridiculous frilled collar. He’s a seventeen-year-old boy, not a poodle. “At least you get to hang out down here.”

She snorts, earning a sideways glare from an older woman. “I called you down to give you a break. Follow me.”

Wonjin lets her drag him out of the ballroom, up the grand staircase and past the stern-faced guards. She opens the door to the servants’ quarters, where they’re all sharing giggles and clinking glasses full of dark liquid. Likely just juice, since at least half of the staff are his age or younger.

“I have a visitor,” she grins, tugging Wonjin into the room. All of them stand up, bowing deeply. Wonjin’s grown up with these people, he knows their faces like the back of his hand. Although only through glimpses, he tries his best to repay their loyalty by passing on compliments and showing warm smiles when they meet eyes. It’s hard to get moments alone, when his father scolds him simply for spending too long in a room with the help. God forbid his sheltered son might be having basic social interaction with another human being. 

He pouts at the sight, letting his mask hang around his neck. “Please, don’t worry about formalities when my father isn’t here.”

The tallest boy blinks at him, tilting his head. “A-are you sure? I feel odd not addressing you properly, Your Highness.”

Wonjin tries to wipe the gel out of his hair, sighing. “No need, Minhee.”

“You know our names?” asks the wide-eyed gardener, gaping at the prince.

Wonjin nods. “Of course I do, Hyeongjun. Father doesn’t let me talk to you much, but I know all of you well.”

Chaeryeong claps her hands, pouring herself a glass of grape juice. “I’m here because I need your help. The poor boy hasn’t spoken to a single stranger all night, how are we going to disguise him?”

Woobin, the chef’s hand, lights up. “You could swap masks with Chaeryeong. Get the rest of that gel out of your hair too.”

Wonjin grins. “You’re a genius. I’ll go get snacks.”

“Wait,” Hyeongjun says, rummaging in a drawer. He pulls out a purple woollen shawl, handing it to Wonjin. “It’s my sister’s. It’ll cover up your clothes, for the most part.”

He tugs off his coat, draping the shawl over his shoulders carefully. “Thank you, I’ll bring it back by the end of the night.” Wonjin wanders back out, snatching two plates and a handful of napkins from the snack table and ducking back into the hidden room. He sits next to Minhee and eases the gel out of his hair, laughing along with his new friends about ridiculous masks and drunk royal personnel. He washes four or five appetisers down with two full cups of grape juice, heading back into the ballroom with a new face and a newfound confidence.

It’s far more crowded than it looks from above. Wonjin edges towards the dance floor, when suddenly something wet seeps into the back of his shirt. He spins on his heel, looking up to see a tall boy standing there with a half-empty cup of punch and the letter ‘o’ on his lips.

“I’m so sorry, I tripped over and—”

“This is my friend’s shawl,” Wonjin hisses. “Ah, he’ll never forgive me. This stuff comes out of fabric, right?”

“Just take it off, I’m sure you’ll be fine,” the boy coaxes. “I’ll even hold it for you.”

Wonjin clutches it tight. “I…I’m cold here.”

The boy eases off his jacket, chuckling. “I see your plan. Go on, wear this.”

He freezes. If he takes off the shawl, his stupid frilly shirt will be on show. He’ll stick out like a sore thumb, forced to head up to the mezzanine to be scolded. “Uh, it’s okay. I shouldn’t have come here,” Wonjin mumbles, his eyes glossing over.

“Hey, that’s not true,” the boy babbles, grabbing onto his shoulders. “Sorry, can I at least help you clean up?”

Wonjin spins on his heel, making a beeline for the far bathrooms no one ever uses. Unfortunately for him, the boy’s long legs allow him to keep up easily, pestering him with a billion questions. Wonjin doesn’t speak, afraid that the boy will recognise his voice now that there’s not a loud chatter surrounding them. He leans over the sink, pulling the shawl off and attempting to scrub the punch off with his fingers.

“Wow, that’s…some shirt,” the boy chuckles, eyeing the excessive layers of pleated fabric. “Are you okay cleaning up on your own? And how did you even find these bathrooms?”

“I live here,” Wonjin mumbles, giving up. “God, I can’t see anything through this.” He pulls at the elastic, laying the butterfly patterned mask on the counter beside the sink. He only catches the boy’s reaction for a split-second before his eyes well up again.

“Y…you’re the prince. Holy shit. Oh my god, I’m so sorry. My life is over,” he says, covering his mouth.

“Shut up,” Wonjin snaps, tears spilling out of his eyes and landing on the stained wool. “Sorry. I just wanted to be free for one night and I can’t even get that.”

“I’m seriously so sorry, Your Highness. I didn’t—”

“Don’t call me that,” he snaps again. “C-can you please help me?”

The boy takes the shawl from him, making quick work of cleaning his mess. “I really am sorry, Your…sorry, what do I call you?”

“Wonjin,” he sighs, sniffing. “What do I call _you_?”

“J-Jungmo. Koo Jungmo,” he says, bowing his head. “I promise I’ll find a way to get you to dance.”

Wonjin smiles weakly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, let’s swap shirts. Anyone would recognise that thing.”

He thinks about it for a moment, starting to unbutton the frilly abomination. “You’re sure?”

Jungmo’s eyes widen behind his mask. “You’re just going to…”

Wonjin pauses, looking up at him. “Do you want me to hide?”

He huffs, slipping off his mask and unbuttoning his cream-coloured dress shirt. Jungmo’s face is absurdly pretty, with a sharp jawline and perfectly shaped eyes. But his hand trembles when he hands Wonjin his shirt, smashing his cool front to smithereens. In their freshly swapped shirts, he attempts to cover Wonjin up with his own jacket.

“No, I’m not actually cold,” Wonjin chuckles, handing it back.

Jungmo ducks his head a little, rubbing his neck. “I’ll stay here and dry the shawl, you should—”

“I don’t want to dance alone,” he snaps. “I’ll clean it later, come with me.”

Wonjin slides the mask back on, taking Jungmo’s hand in his as they run back to the ballroom. His confidence comes rushing back with every moment Jungmo gets flustered, wrapping his arms around the taller boy’s waist and spinning around. “Slow down,” Jungmo laughs, catching his footing.

Wonjin grins, adjusting Jungmo’s hesitant hands on his shoulders. “I like you, stop being so scared.” Jungmo stands up a little straighter, fiddling with the ruffles on the borrowed shirt. Something about seeing a near stranger in his shirt tugs at Wonjin’s heart a little, and even more so when he remembers the pretty face under that mask. Wonjin glances up at the balcony, noticing the way his father comes to the railing to look over the crowd. He stops spinning and presses his cheek to Jungmo’s shoulder. He can feel the poor boy’s heart beating faster than a hummingbird’s. “I can’t let him see me.”

“He won’t recognise you,” Jungmo says, his voice shaking. It’s clear he’s trying to move away, but doesn’t know how to avoid touching Wonjin.

“Maybe not,” Wonjin sighs, lifting his head.

“You’re a lot shorter than I thought you’d be,” Jungmo mumbles, pulling away. “You look different on TV.”

“Maybe you’re just freakishly tall,” he scowls. “Do you see me on TV a lot?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jungmo chuckles, narrowing his eyes. “You’re the prince, of course I see you a lot.”

Wonjin glances at his shoes, stumbling a little now that he’s paying attention to his steps. “I wish I got to see everyone too. I’ve been stuck hidden away since Mom passed away. You know, I used to attend the kingdom’s balls with her and dance in this room until everyone left.”

“That sounds like a sweet memory,” Jungmo sighs. “I’m glad you’re here dancing again.”

His eyes gloss over behind the mask, hopefully obscured from Jungmo. “I’m glad too,” Wonjin squeaks. “You don’t have to be so nervous, you know. This might be the only time I see you, so you shouldn’t keep hesitating.”

“Right,’ he mumbles, holding onto Wonjin’s waist a little tighter. “I wish I could see you again. You’ll be king when you’re eighteen, right? Then you’ll be able to come visit the town, and you can visit me while you’re there.”

“I guess I can,” Wonjin smiles. To be perfectly honest, Wonjin’s never wanted to be king. He’s terrified of addressing the kingdom when his social capacity is that of a kindergartner’s, no thanks to his father. Everyone insists it’s for his own good that he stays put, but Wonjin knows his father’s scared that he’ll find someone that convinces him to give up his responsibilities. The king doesn’t know him well enough. Wonjin finds joy in laughing with the staff and dancing with a new friend, in the hopes that they’ll meet again. And he won’t be the perfect king, but he’ll have endless people to love.

Jungmo lifts up his mask for a moment, grinning from ear to ear. “Hopefully not in court where you prosecute me for spilling punch.” He smiles innocently, like one of a first love you’d have in elementary school and forget about until you hear his name in passing and smile to yourself. Not that Wonjin would know the feeling outside of books he’s read.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Wonjin shrugs, tugging the mask back down. It’s shaped like a cat’s ears, he notices. It’s cute. “I won’t hold you hostage, don’t worry.”

They spin around in each other’s arms for a while, until Wonjin gets dizzy and Jungmo starts drooping over him. It’s comfortable to keep swaying around the shiny floors, amongst all the drowsy bodies in floaty dresses and silky jackets. Jungmo tells him countless stories of the villages, describing all the markets and festivals in thrillingly vivid detail. Wonjin could listen to him forever.

“It’s getting late,” Jungmo whispers, fiddling with the hair at the nape of Wonjin’s neck.

Wonjin nods, leading him back through the tall double doors. If he’s perfectly honest, he would love to drag Jungmo upstairs and keep him away forever, but Wonjin couldn’t bear the thought of getting sick of him. They wander back to the same empty bathroom underneath the staircase that leads up to the west wing.

“Ah,” Wonjin sighs, unbuttoning the borrowed shirt. He slides off his mask, glancing up in the mirror to catch a glimpse of a side of himself he’s never seen before. Red-cheeked and exhilarated, he feels nothing but pure bliss. Jungmo slips his fingers under his own mask, lifting it over his head. Jungmo’s giving him that innocent smile, and Wonjin realises he doesn’t need a book to tell him what a crush feels like.

“I hope you don’t forget me, Your Highness.”

Wonjin repeats his name a few times just to make sure he doesn’t. _Koo Jungmo, Koo Jungmo, Koo Jungmo_. Jungmo gives him a hug, lifting Wonjin onto his tiptoes. He slips out through the bathroom door, his quick footsteps echoing through the halls.

Wonjin feels a strange longing brewing in the pit of his stomach. Every step Wonjin takes towards his coat draped over the chair in the servants’ quarters is another step further away from Jungmo, but his feet keep going and his heart grows louder. It might just be a fear of getting scolded by his father, but there’s also a scarily large chance that he won’t see Jungmo again until his coronation. So he basks in the bubbly sensation that overcomes his body for now, making a vow to himself.

If Koo Jungmo really is his first love, he’ll be the last too.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading ╰(*´︶`*)╯  
> (title from top secret by weeekly)


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